“Mynheer Cornelius!”
“Yes, yes, Rosa, you may take them, you are not wronging any one, my child. I am alone in this world; my parents are dead; I never had a sister or a brother. I have never had a thought of loving any one with what is called love, and if any one has loved me, I have not known it. However, you see well, Rosa, that I am abandoned by everybody, as in this sad hour you alone are with me in my prison, consoling and assisting me.”
“But, sir, a hundred thousand guilders!”
“Well, let us talk seriously, my dear child: those hundred thousand guilders will be a nice marriage-portion, with your pretty face; you shall have them, for I am quite sure of my bulb. You shall have them, Rosa, dear Rosa, and I ask nothing in return but your promise that you will marry a fine young man, whom you love, and who will love you, as dearly as I loved my flowers. Don’t interrupt me, Rosa, dear, I have only a few minutes more.”
The poor girl was nearly choking with her sobs.
Cornelius took her by the hand.
“Listen to me,” he continued: “I’ll teach you how to manage it: Go to Dort and ask Butruysheim, my gardener, for soil from my border number six, fill a deep box with it, and plant in it these three bulbs. They will flower next May, that is to say, in seven months; and, when you see the flower forming on the stem, be careful at night to protect them from the wind, and by day to screen them from the sun. They will flower black; I am quite sure of it. You are then to apprise the President of the Haarlem Society. He will cause the colour of the flower to be proved before the committee, and those hundred thousand guilders will be paid to you.”
Rosa heaved a deep sigh. “And now,” continued
